MALCOLM WARNE
They found the door of the matron’s office wide open and boys coming
and going every minute. It was a good deal like a reception, Evan
thought, as Rob, taking him by the arm, guided him into the room.
The matron was a small, plump, middle-aged woman with red cheeks and
very black hair, whom every fellow liked at first glance and usually
worshiped devotedly by the end of his first term. Old boys returning
to school made a bee-line from the stage to Number 1 First House, and
shook hands with Mrs. Crow before they thought of anything else. Her
sitting-room, or office as she preferred to call it, was a veritable
museum of gifts from boys or their parents, gifts ranging from
sea-shells to the mahogany arm-chair presented to her by last year’s
graduating class. And there wasn’t a thing so tiny and trivial that
she couldn’t tell you at once the name of the giver. She had very
pleasant, kindly black eyes and a sweet voice, and loved a joke better
than her afternoon tea. Rob wormed his way into the group about her,
dragging Evan after him.
“How do you do, Mrs. Crow?” he cried, seizing her hand and shaking it
violently. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Why, Rob, how you do grow! Oh, my poor hand! Of course I’m glad to see
you, even if you did forget to come and say good-by to me last June.”
“I tried to, really, Mrs. Crow, but I couldn’t stand the――the ordeal.
It would have saddened my whole summer. I want you to know my brother
Evan. Evan, this is Mrs. Crow, of whom I talked incessantly all summer.”
“How do you do?” asked Evan, taking the hand held out to him. Mrs.
Crow gazed from Evan to Rob doubtfully. Some one sniggered. Evan
felt somewhat embarrassed and looked appealingly at Rob’s beaming
countenance.
“I don’t believe it,” said the matron, finally. “He’s never your
brother, Rob Langton; he doesn’t look the least bit like you. Now is
he?”
“My foster-brother, Mrs. Crow.”
“He’s just fooling,” said Evan. “My name’s Evan Kingsford, Mrs. Crow――I
mean Mrs.――”
“Never mind,” she laughed; “they all call me that. I’m very glad to
meet you, Mr. Kingsford. I hope you’ll like us. Let me see, you’re in
Holden, aren’t you, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was sent there at first.”
“I remember; number 36.”
“Wrong, Mrs. Crow; he’s with me in 32,” said Rob.
“Really? But I’m sure my list says 36.”
“They had him down for there, but he’s very delicate, and 36 is such a
cold room that I rescued him. I’m going over to explain to the Doctor
about it now. Come on, Evan.”
“Well, I hope he will let you make the change,” said Mrs. Crow,
dubiously. “But you know he doesn’t like to have the rooms empty.”
“Then you tell him to let us have 36 for a parlor,” laughed Rob,
dragging Evan away.
“You must come to my teas, Mr. Kingsford,” called the matron. “Any
Friday between four and six. Don’t forget, please.”
“I think,” said Rob, when they were outside again, “that I’d better
see the Doctor alone. You go on over to the room and get your things
unpacked. I’ll be along in a few minutes. There you are, over there,
the last building. Don’t get lost.”
Rob turned toward Academy Hall and the office, while Evan picked his
way through the twilight across the yard under the elms. When he
reached the second floor he found the door of 24 open and a group of
fellows, among whom he instantly recognized Frank Hopkins and the tall
youth, standing around it. The conversation, which had been eager and
animated, died down as he came into sight. It was rather an ordeal to
pass that group, but he made the best of it, viewing them calmly and
casually as he took the last few stairs and turned down the corridor.
To his surprise, some three or four of the fellows nodded to him,
and he returned the greeting in like manner. But Hopkins only stared
disdainfully, while the tall youth grinned annoyingly and began to hum
in time to Evan’s footsteps. The latter was glad when he was in 32 with
the door closed behind him. Through the open transom, however, he heard
the talk and laughter begin again, and caught the words, “Mighty well
built, though, Hop. You’d better nab him for the team.” He couldn’t
hear the foot-ball captain’s reply, but it was evidently humorous,
judging from the laughter it summoned.
With reddening cheeks and a rather lonesome feeling he began the
unpacking of his trunk, which, with Rob’s, stood in the center of
the room. His mother had placed a letter on top of the till, and,
although it was a very sweet and dear letter, it rather increased his
homesickness as he read it. He went on with his unpacking, feeling a
little bit choky about the throat, and was glad when there came a knock
at the door.
“Come!” he called.
The boy who entered paused in surprise when he saw Evan.
“Hello!” he said. “Oh, beg pardon. Where’s Rob?”
“He’s over at the office,” answered Evan. “He will be up in a few
minutes. Won’t you wait?”
“Thanks.” He glanced doubtfully about the room and then closed the door
behind him and sat down. “Are you going in with Rob?”
“Do you mean am I going to room here?” asked Evan. “Yes; that is, I
expect to. They gave me 36, but Langton asked me to come in with him,
and he’s trying to fix it up for me with the principal. That’s what
he’s doing now.”
“Oh, I see,” murmured the other. He seemed rather disappointed, Evan
thought, and wondered why. “I suppose you and he are old friends?”
asked the stranger.
“No; I never saw him until this afternoon. It――it was very decent of
him to ask me, I think.”
“Yes,” said the other, thoughtfully. “Don’t let me stop you, please.
I’ll just wait a minute for Rob.”
Evan went on with his unpacking, catching now and then as he went to
and fro between trunk and closet and bureau a glimpse of the caller. He
was a very good-looking fellow, with dark hair and eyes and a softness
about mouth and chin that was almost girlish. He sat with elbow on
knee, and chin in hand, looking dreamily across the room, evidently
quite forgetful of Evan’s presence. After a while the silence grew
oppressive.
“My name’s Kingsford,” announced Evan. The other looked up slowly and
nodded.
[Illustration: “‘HELLO!’ HE SAID. ‘OH, BEG PARDON. WHERE’S ROB?’”]
“Thanks. Mine’s Warne.” Then he went back to his rapt study of the
opposite wall. Evan was distinctly relieved when he heard Rob’s
footsteps in the hall.
“Well,” said Rob, as he came in, “it’s all―― Hello, Mal! Where’d you
come from? Been waiting long? Kingsford, let me make you acquainted
with Mr. Warne, a particular friend of mine. Mal, this is Mr.
Kingsford. He and I are going to try it together.”
Malcolm Warne shook hands with a smile which displayed a set of very
white teeth. It was a nice smile and lighted up the somewhat serious
face very pleasantly.
“Happy to meet you,” said Warne. Then, to Rob, “So he was just saying.
I hope you will――like it――both of you.” He had a very soft voice, spoke
slowly, and had a way of chopping off the ends of his words that was
unfamiliar to Evan.
“Oh, we’ll get on all right, I think,” said Rob, easily. “Sit down,
Mal, and tell us what you did all summer. By the way, though,
Kingsford, it’s all right about the room. Doctor agreed with me that a
chap with any tendency toward colds, grippe, pneumonia, and consumption
ought not to live in 36. He got rather interested in your case, and
I shouldn’t be surprised if he sent the doctor around to-morrow to
report on you. If he comes, please cough for my sake! Well, I’ve got to
get my trunk unpacked. Go ahead and talk, Mal.”
“No, I reckon I’ll go on. I just dropped in to say howdy to you.”
“What? ‘Go on’ nothing! Sit down, you idiot, and tell me what’s been
happening with you.”
“Oh, nothing much. I had a very quiet summer. I was at home most of the
time, although we went down to Virginia Beach in August for a couple of
weeks. I’ll see you to-morrow, Rob. Good night, Mr. Kingsford. Pleased
to have met you. Get Rob to bring you over to see me soon. So long,
Rob.”
“Well, if you insist on going,” said Rob, following the caller to the
door. “What’s the matter, Mal? Anything wrong?” They passed out, Rob
drawing the door shut behind him. Evan heard their low voices outside
in the hallway for several minutes. Then Rob reappeared, looking
worried.
“Now there’s a crazy idiot,” he said, with a frown, thrusting his hands
into his trousers pockets and spreading his long legs apart.
“Why?” asked Evan.
“He wanted to come in here with me, and he never said a word about it.
Says he was waiting to make sure I hadn’t any one in view. He’s too
blamed sensitive.”
“Well, that’s easily fixed,” said Evan, lightly. “It won’t take me ten
minutes to move across to 36. That’s where I belong, anyway, Langton.
I’d rather do it, really.”
“Not much! But I’ve got an idea.”
He hurried out, crossed the hall, knocked on the opposite door, and
threw it open.
“Hello, Spalding!” Evan heard him say. “Want to use your window a
second. Oh, Mal! Come back a minute, will you?” Evidently Warne heard,
for Rob only sent one hail across the yard.
“Here’s the idea,” he went on, as he returned to 32. “We’ll get Warne
to move into 36. He never knows whether he’s hot or cold, and he’s dead
anxious to get out of the room he’s in. He’s in First House with a
chap named Gammage; decent chap enough, but he and Warne don’t hit it
off. Mal’s a Southerner, from North Carolina――or South, I’ve forgotten
which. Where _is_ Wilmington, anyway?”
“Wilmington? In Delaware, isn’t it?”
“Is it? Then I guess Wilmington isn’t the place; I’m pretty sure he’s
from one of the Carolinas. Anyway, he’s an awfully nice fellow, and I
want you to like him. Here he comes. Say, Mal, I’ve thought of a great
scheme. Sit down and I’ll unfold it. Kingsford here was booked for 36.
So that leaves 36 empty. You see the Doctor and get him to let you move
into it. You don’t mind rooming alone, do you? Besides, you can make
this room home if you like to.”
“I shouldn’t mind that a bit,” said Warne.
“Good! But I ought to tell you that 36 is a cold old hole; there’s
something wrong with the pipes――some bronchial trouble, I guess.
Anyway, in cold weather you’ll pretty nearly freeze. But you can always
study over here, you know.”
“I don’t mind a cold room. That’s one thing Gammage and I are always
scrapping about. He likes it about eighty. Do you think the Doctor will
let me change?”
“I don’t see why not. Tell him that you don’t get on with what’s-his-name;
tell him you like a cold room. He ought to be glad to have some one in
36 that won’t kick all the time for heat. He’s over at the office now.
Go ahead and tackle him before he gets any one else down for the room.
And come right back and let’s hear what he says.”
Malcolm Warne was back in ten minutes, looking very pleased.
“He said yes, Rob. My, but I’m tickled. I’d sleep in an ice-chest to
get rid of Gammage.”
“That’s fine, Mal. I told Kingsford that you were disappointed about
rooming in here, and he offered to get out. But I knew you wouldn’t
want him to do that.”
“No, indeed,” said Malcolm, warmly, glancing gratefully across at Evan.
“It was very good of you, though, Kingsford.”
“Not a bit,” murmured Evan.
“I say, you chaps,” began Rob. Then he paused doubtfully. The others
waited, looking inquiringly at him where he stood rumpling his mutinous
locks with a paper-cutter.
“Why, just this,” he went on presently. “Here are three of us, all
pretty good fellows――speaking for the rest of you, that is. Now let’s
cut out this surname nonsense. My name’s Rob, yours is Malcolm, or Mal
for short, and yours is Evan. There, that’s settled.” He tossed the
paper-knife down. “Now I want to show you fellows a little idea that
occurred to me coming back from the office a while ago. Bring up your
chairs.”
“What is it?” asked Evan, exchanging an amused glance with Malcolm.
“It’s an improved foot-scraper for doorsteps. It’s all well enough
to get the mud off the soles of your shoes, but why not clean it off
the uppers, too? Now, look here. Where’s my pad? Either of you got a
pencil? Thanks. Now then!”